Legend
by Elessar King
Summary: One simple mistake in battle can pay a very high price. Can it tear apart a friendship by placing a seed of doubt in the mind of the most loyal? Not slash. Finished.
1. Blood of a Legend

Ok, I wrote this during math...seriously, we did mean, median and mode during 7th grade. Anyway, I wasn't originally planning on posting this, but with a little bit of helpful peer pressure, lol, here it is. I hope you like it, no idea how long it'll be...well, I have a rough idea, but you know how that is. Anyway, I'll shut up now. Enjoy and please review!

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Legend

Prologue

Artorius Castus had never defeated in battle and by the form he displayed the reason was obvious. The sword he carried, the mighty and legendary sword of his father forged by the metal of Britain, was Excalibur. It was rare that an enemy survived contact with the sword unless it was intentional.

Arthur was the Roman captain of a band of Sarmation knights, forced into service by an ancient pact formed by their fore-fathers in exchange for their lives. Though he be of Roman decent, Arthur did not condone the way Rome treated his knights, taking them from their homes at a young age. Galahad, the youngest, had only seen 13 winters and Lancelot, Arthur's most trusted knight and friend, only 16. Arthur himself was barely older than 18 at the time of his first command.

It was ten years since Arthur and his knights took their post in Britain. Less than one fourth of the original number of the Sarmations remain...

Chapter 1 – Blood of a Legend

To the average man, a farmer for example who had no training or knowledge in the use of weapons, a battle appeared to be only mass-confusion with no resemblance of order at all. But to Lancelot and Arthur it was a dance. A dance of survival. Battle was a form of art; it had to be. A mistake, a miss-step, anything could result in death.

Lancelot's dance was smooth and practiced. Every movement flowed gracefully with speed and accuracy. The twin swords in his hands hummed in the air, trusting, parrying, blocking.

Fighting at his back was Arthur. His dance was more deliberate and thought out than Lancelot's. Instead of the graceful and fluid twin swords, Excalibur required a powerful style. Combined, the two warriors were unstoppable. At least they were almost unstoppable.

It was actually Dagonet who saw the archer first. "Lancelot!" he shouted in warning.

The younger Sarmation didn't have a chance to turn, the Woads were closing in about them. Even if he had, it was too late and Arthur knew it; there wasn't enough time to avoid the arrow. He couldn't push Lancelot out of the way, he was too far. Arthur stepped into the arrow's path; the archer's aim was too low, the arrow embedded itself deep in Arthur's upper right leg. The Roman didn't scream, he didn't cry out, but he kept fighting and clenched his jaw trying to block out the pain.

Woads ran towards them, seeing the weakness of the two men; without one they could be overtaken. It was a trap, that was obvious now. Arthur grunted at the pain increasing in his leg, but at least it was him and not Lancelot.

A knight yelled from across the field; it was young Galahad. Lancelot gritted his teeth as several Woads attacked him at once. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gawain and Galahad working their way over to help. Suddenly a Woad slammed the hilt of his weapon against the side of Lancelot's head, sending him backwards, his left sword cut something behind him. The Sarmation's eyes went wide as he turned around. Arthur had been behind him. The large Roman's hand now clamped over a gash in his side from Lancelot's own sword.

Arthur stumbled forward and fell down to his knees, the arrow wound in his leg combined with the gash on his side finally becoming too much to fight with. Lancelot caught him before he fell forward. "Oh gods, Arthur, I'm sorry!" the younger man cried, "I didn't mean to!"

Looking up at the Sarmation's brown eyes brimmed with unshed tears, Arthur's vision started to blur. He shook his head weakly, trying to tell Lancelot that he was no to blame. Arthur's body was on fire, he hurt...he wanted peace. It was so welcoming, the darkness. Lancelot was talking, he could vaguely hear him. Finally, the pain was too much to bare and Arthur gave into the peace of unconsciousness, slumping against his friend's chest.

Lancelot sat there on the battlefield as the last of the Woads either ran or were killed, holding his wounded and unconscious captain, cradling the man against himself, Arthur's head resting on his shoulder. It was his fault, it was his fault Arthur was wounded. Lancelot rested his forehead against the dark hair matted to Arthur's head with sweat. He didn't even try to stop the tears of guilt that came.


	2. Soul of a Legend

Hi, again. So I'm almost done with chapter three and I like to stay one chapter ahead so that I'll actually continue to write, lol. Anyway, here's chapter two. This one wasn't written during math class, I do actually pay attention...sometimes. Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews, they really do mean a lot. I'm sure you hear that from every author, LOL. Anyway, here's chapter 2 and I'll shut up now. Enjoy, and please do review.

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Chapter 2 – Soul of a Legend

Dagonet surveyed the field of battle; the grass was barely visible beneath the bodies and blood. His skilled warrior's eyes were drawn to where Galahad and Gawain stood; Bors also moving towards them. The knight quickly walked over, kneeling next to Lancelot and Arthur on the ground.

Lancelot looked up at his fellow knights, almost ashamed. Their eyes hurt him, bore deep inside his soul; burning him. Every gaze filled with concern for their commander...it had been his fault; Arthur was his best friend and the only way that Lancelot could repay him was to hurt him in battle. He bit his lip as the lump formed once again in his throat. Slowly, he turned to look at Dagonet as the knight spoke.

"Lancelot," Dagonet said softly, knowing all too well the look in his brother Sarmation's dark eyes, "We need to get his armour off to bandage his wounds. Can you help us." It wasn't a question so much as a statement.

Biting back his sadness and guilt at knowing he was to blame, Lancelot nodded. Tristan and Dagonet carefully took off Arthur's armour with Lancelot's help. The Roman's dark tunic was stained even darker on his less-protected side. As Tristan ripped the fabric open rather than taking the tunic off and possibly aggravating the wound more, Lancelot's face nearly turned as pale as Arthur's as he caught his first glimpse of the wound. The gash ran from the edge of Arthur's back down to the corner of his hip. Not much farther down was the arrow shaft sticking out of his thigh.

The knights said nothing, they did not look at Lancelot who still held Arthur securely against his chest; afraid to loose him. Tristan began wrapping some of the small amount of bandages they had around Arthur's side. They never brought any sort of healer with them, Tristan was the closest they had. It was a well known fact that if a wounded man could not survive the ride back to the fort, then he was going to die anyway even if a healer was there after the battle.

As Tristan had tied off the bandage around Arthur's side and moved down to the arrow protruding from his leg, the Roman let out a soft moan. The other knights looked up; Tristan paused.

"Arthur?" Lancelot whispered as his captain's grey eyes slowly opened and looked tiredly up at him.

Arthur blinked several times, trying to focus on Lancelot's face. "Lancelot," he said as the knight looked away slightly, unable to hold Arthur's gaze any longer, "You're wounded..."

Lancelot closed his eyes, the words meant in such a selfless, caring way stinging his soul. The gash on his head wasn't what pained him, it was his heart. A slight smile touched his lips; that was something only Arthur would say. "I know," Lancelot replied, forcing himself to look into Arthur's eyes, "So are you."

"This arrow has to come out if we're going to go anywhere," Tristan said casually, gently cutting away at the hole in Arthur's trousers enough so that the arrow could be removed. He looked at the wound, prodded a little, trying to figure out where the arrowhead was.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, any movement at all causing him pain. He reached up for Lancelot's hand, the knight's arm was stretched across his chest holding onto his shoulder.

Gawain silently moved over, position himself next to Arthur's other leg. Galahad knelt next to Lancelot. Both knights ready to hold down their captain as soon as Tristan told them he was ready to pull the arrow out.

"Here," Dagonet said, placing a tough piece of leather between Arthur's teeth, "Bite on this."

Tristan didn't look up, he only nodded. Arthur took a deep breath and squeezed Lancelot's hand. His friend squeezed back.

The movement was sudden, the action was over in an instant, but the pain lingered. Arthur let out a hoarse cry while biting the leather; his face turned another few shades paler. His body jolted, it took all of them to hold him down. By the time Tristan was bandaging the leg, Arthur had fortunately passed out again.

Lancelot tried to fight back his tears again, but it was no use. He rested his cheek on the top of Arthur's head and whispered softly to his friend, "I'm sorry Arthur, I'm so sorry."

Dagonet waited a moment before he put a hand on Lancelot's shoulder in support, "We'll get the horses."

It almost seemed as if no one had noticed the clouds roll in after the battle. Tristan had, but he was their scout, he noticed everything. When the first few raindrops fell, Galahad glanced up at the dark sky. "We should get back to the fort tonight," he commented, glancing over at Dagonet and Bors lifting the unconscious man to Lancelot atop Arthur's horse.

"We're too far I think," Gawain replied next to him, swinging up on his own grey horse, "Tristan will find us a place to camp for tonight."

Galahad also mounted, being cautious of his arm. He had been the only other wounded, but the cut wasn't bad at all. The rain would cleanse it; it would cleanse the whole land.

* * *

"Easy girl," Lancelot smiled slightly, patting the white horse's neck, "Gently now, your master needs it." Arthur's horse seemed to understand, her gate was smooth and gentle. Lancelot's arm held Arthur secure against his chest. They had been riding for several hours since the end of the battle, taking a slow pace. It was also starting to get dark, not to mention it was raining. Though all of the knights rode in silence, except Lancelot's occasional whispers to Arthur, they all knew that they would need to stop soon.

The woods were dense, except for a clearing Tristan had found. It would do; they couldn't ride as far as the fort at the pace they were taking, it would be all night.

Arthur woke again as they slowed. "We're stopping for tonight," Lancelot said to him.

The wounded man shook his head, "We should keep moving...get back to the fort."

"Arthur," Lancelot stopped the horse, "It would take all night, and it's raining. Tristan found a safe enough place, we're stopping for tonight."

Not in much of a condition to argue on issues of command, Arthur said nothing else on the subject. Lancelot slid off the horse first, then carefully helped Arthur down too. He let out a muffled yelp at his wounds being disturbed but there was no helping that.

It was too wet for a fire, blankets would have to do to keep warm. Arthur found himself being placed on the wet ground again. It was freezing, at least only before the warm saddle blanket was wrapped around him. Lancelot placed Arthur's head in his lap, leaning against a tree. He brushed the wet hair from the Roman's face and spoke softly, "Rest. We'll reach the fort tomorrow."

Arthur was about to protest but tiredness was taking over. His grey eyes looked up at Lancelot, almost speaking for him. _Will you stay with me?_ A commander never showed doubt nor weakness in front of his men; it could have crippling effects.

_Yes_. Lancelot knew the reason, glancing over at Galahad and Gawain who quickly turned away. Dagonet and Bors tended to the horses and Tristan stood guard; his hawk flying overhead in the rain watching over the small camp. But the hawk wasn't the only one watching the knight's camp from the dark woods...


	3. Strength of a Legend

Here's chapter three. I've been working a lot today on chapter four and I might finish it by tonight so I'll post three for you in the mean time. Wow, I didn't really expect that sort of reaction for chapter 2...wow. That's a very high compliment though from my wonderful reviewers, thank you. I hope you enjoy chapter three and don't forget to review! Thanks.

Chapter 3 – Strength of a Legend

The knight's camp was almost silent. An occasional snort from one of the horses or the sound of the rain, or some woodland animal stirring about in the trees broke the quiet state. Every noise woke Lancelot; he could find no peace that night. He looked down at Arthur, absently stroking back his dark hair with one hand, his other held his friend's hand. The cold rain showed no signs of letting up and the tree they were under provided some shelter, but not much. Arthur suddenly shivered. A look of concern crossed Lancelot's face and he leaned forward, briefly letting go of Arthur's hand to unfasten his cloak and lay it over his friend.

Awakened by Lancelot's movement, Arthur's grey eyes slowly opened to look up at his first knight.

"I didn't mean to wake you," Lancelot said softly, "Go back to sleep."

Arthur looked up at him. "It was not your fault, Lancelot," he whispered hoarsely.

The Sarmation's dark eyes looked away, filled again with pain. "Go back to sleep," Lancelot took up Arthur's hand again, watching the other knights sleep.

Arthur squeezed Lancelot's hand but winced suddenly as his side throbbed. It would need to be stitched as soon as they returned to the fort. For now, the bandages would do.

Lancelot looked down at him again. "Go to sleep," he said putting his hand on Arthur's forehead.

In the small amount of time awake, Arthur felt his energy drained. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Lancelot sighed once Arthur was asleep. "It was my fault," the knight whispered to himself, "I hurt you. It's all my fault."

* * *

Silence once again ruled over the camp. Tristan watched from under another tree. He had listened to Lancelot's quiet murmurings to his wounded captain. It was hard to know exactly what was going on in battle, they all know that. It was even harder at times to distinguish friend from foe. Tristan shifted under his cloak at the thought of what had happened that day. Lancelot blaming himself was understandable, but none of the knights would have ever accused him of purposely hurting any of them, least of all Arthur.

Perched in the tree above the man in thought sat the hawk. Her eyes carefully roamed the woods surrounding them. She watched over Bors snoring softly under a tree across the clearing and Dagonet nearby; Gawain under the next tree with Galahad next to him, his head leaning on his friend's shoulder. Lastly, she watched over Lancelot, Arthur's head resting in his lap.

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The movement was so slight that Tristan's eyes missed it in the darkness; but the hawk's didn't. She flapped her wings in the rain, rustling the tree. Below, Tristan didn't look up, but glanced quickly into the woods, searching for movement. The waters had been startled by the bird and moved from their positions. There it was, blue motion amidst the darkness.

"Woads!" Tristan jumped up; bow in hand and arrow ready.

The blue warriors charged at the camp, but they were met by armed knights, ready for a fight at any moment.

"Ya haven't had enough, huh?" Bors shouted wielding his knuckle-blades, "You want some more Bors? I'll take you all on!"

Beside him, Dagonet spun his sword in his hand. How could they have been so foolish to think that the Woads wouldn't attack when their captain was wounded. Out of the corner of his eye, Dagonet saw Lancelot on his feet, Arthur still behind him, under the treet. All of the knights would watch out for not only Arthur, but also the impulsive Lancelot. The spark was in the man's dark eyes; guilt, doubt, anger...revenge. They could cause a mistake, make a man vulnerable.

In an instant every weapon was a blur in the hands of his owner. Gawain and Galahad fought side-by-side as Lancelot and Arthur had in the battle previous. They lead off each other's movements, acting as one. Many of the knights before had done this; two warriors together could watch each other's backs. Dagonet and Bors fought together. Tristan could watch his own back; the lone wolf. But this scrap found Lancelot on his own. He was far from defenseless, with two swords whirling around him. Rain fell on his face, blurring his vision and making his dark curls stick to his forehead.

A single Woad snuck around behind the knights, his determined eyes on Lancelot; on the most vulnerable man. He glanced over at his comrades creating the distraction again. The moment arose. The Woad gripped his weapon and ran out from behind his hiding place. It was Gawain this time who saw the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Lancelot!" he cried, "Behind you!"

Lancelot turned just as the Woad who thought his plan was perfect was cut down, a look of confusion crossing his face as he fell. Arthur stumbled slightly from the overpowering weight of Excalibur, but he still had the strength to wield it. Lancelot's eyes widened in surprise; Arthur had saved his life again.

The other Woads saw their leader cut down by the man they had wounded earlier that day. That was enough to convince them that they could not win this round. They quickly retreated back into the woods, leaving the Sarmation knights standing in a circle in the small clearing.

* * *

Dagonet inwardly let out a sigh of relief and turned back to the others just in time to see their commander collapse.

Lancelot caught Arthur and lowered him onto the ground. The Roman grabbed his side for a moment, when he removed his hand the palm was covered in blood; the rain slowly washed it away.

The knights ran over, but left room for Tristan to get closer. He looked up at Lancelot, "You need to take him to the fort."

For once, Lancelot opened his mouth and nothing came out. _Why me? Everything I have done has made things worse!_

"Now," Tristan added, motioning to Gawain to get Arthur's horse.

Taking a deep breath, Lancelot nodded and looked down at Arthur again. _I'm sorry. I'm sorry._ It repeated over and over in his head. Arthur's eyes were squeezed shut, his face even paler than before.

Gawain brought the white horse over and Lancelot didn't hesitate to jump up on her back, there was not a moment to loose, it would be a long ride in the rain, but it could not wait. He had to do this, he _had_ to.

Once Dagonet and Bors had lifted Arthur up again on the horse, Lancelot wrapped his cloak around him; it was already soaking wet, but it was better than nothing.

Dagonet looked up at the younger knight, "We'll stay here tonight, meet you at the fort tomorrow."

"We'll see you there," Lancelot replied, calmer than he was inside, and then nudged the horse forward with his heels. She started out slow, but extended her gait smoothly into a gallop, sensing the urgency of their nighttime departure from the others.

Arthur's head rested against Lancelot's shoulder, the knight's arm across his chest again, holding him secure. "I will bring you home," Lancelot whispered, almost as if he was reassuring himself as they rode through the rainy woods.


	4. Doubt of a Legend

This chapter is quite long..for me anyway. So, um, yeah. Not much to say really. Thanks for the reviews and stuff, hope you enjoy it! The more reviews I get, the easier this stuff comes out, I'm sure every author says that too haha. Anyway, enjoy and do review. Thanks

Chapter 4 – Doubt of a Legend

They never saw the sun rise that morning behind the angry clouds that blanketed the sky. It had rained most of the night, stopping only as the darkness lifted slightly, night replaced by morning. Instead of the rain, a frigid wind chilled the land. It was the sort cold that gets in your bones and freezes you down to the core.

Lancelot pushed the horse faster, they were near the fort. It was good too, Arthur had stopped shivering. His head no longer rested on Lancelot's shoulder, but his body slumped forward in the knight's grip.

"Just a little farther," Lancelot whispered, "We're almost there."

Arthur didn't acknowledge him, Lancelot knew he wouldn't. He could feel blood on his tunic. Or was it just rain water? They were both still wet from the rain, it hadn't let up that long ago, and this horrid wind wasn't helping. Shifting his grip on Arthur so that the Roman was more secure, Lancelot asked the horse to give them more speed with his heels. He was worried and afraid, they had to get to the fort soon.

* * *

Lancelot barely slowed the white horse down as they rode into the fort. The few people that were out quickly moved out of the way, gasping at the sight of Arthur wounded. Lancelot paid no attention to them, only on getting help.

They rode into the courtyard that specifically belonged to the Sarmations knights and their commander. It seemed to Lancelot that all of the sudden a great whirlwind came up and brought the court to life, leaving him alone in the middle, untouched. Healers, stable boys, sentries, even barmaids asking about the others; all speaking at once. Lancelot's mind didn't comprehend them, all else was confusion; his focus was on Arthur.

Some of them helped Arthur down off the horse. The wounded man groaned, being disturbed from the painless darkness. His hand had clasped Lancelot's sometime during their journey, the knight didn't recall when. Arthur's tired grey eyes opened slightly and found his knight. They silently pleaded with him so that Lancelot thought his own heart would break again. _Don't leave me._

_I won't, I promise_. Arthur's eyes closed again, he was so tired, but he could sleep now that he knew Lancelot wouldn't leave. It only lasted a moment and their hands were pulled apart as Arthur was carried off through the small crowd to where the healers could tend to him.

Jumping off the horse, leaving her in the care of one of the stable boys, Lancelot followed after them. His long strides quickly caught up but one of the healers turned back to look at him, the man shook his head, telling Lancelot he could not come. He stopped dead in his tracks and watched them carry off his best friend and captain, being told he could not follow.

Lancelot stood in the courtyard, the whirlwind of action still swirling about him, but still leaving him untouched, as if he was disconnected from time itself. After a moment, he blinked and they were gone. Arthur was gone. _No, no, not that way._ _He is gone with help, he is safe._ But Lancelot wasn't there with him. His heart sunk lower in his chest and Lancelot hung his head.

* * *

Prime Snowfall, Arthur's white horse stood fast where she was, her ears perked forward, watching where Arthur had been carried only moments before. The stable boy pulled her reins, trying to get her to move, but it was no use.

"Come on Snowy," the boy tried again to get the horse to move. "Snowy" as she was more frequently called, snorted loudly and looked around for her master. She had known their urgency to get back to the fort, it made her nervous. Raising her nose up in the air, she let out a concerned whiney and waited impatiently for a reply, stamping her feet and refusing to go with the stable boy.

The horse's cry brought Lancelot back into the real world. He turned and saw the boy trying to take Snowy to the stable. Standing with her ears forward and full attention placed in one spot where she had last seen her master, Prime Snowfall was just as her name suggested; prime. The image before him of the boy trying to divert the horse's attention brought a slight smile to Lancelot's lips. "Let me take her," the knight said, walking towards them just as Snowy whinnied again.

"Yes sir, but sir, it's..." the boy stuttered.

"I said, let me take her," Lancelot interrupted, taking the reins from the boy who bowed his head slightly and ran off, knowing better than to question the Sarmation knight.

Sighing, Lancelot petted Snowy's neck. "He'll be all right," he said softly, "Come on, good girl. You carried us fast, you deserve a rest." The horse snorted again and reluctantly looked away, following Lancelot on a loose lead to the stable.

It didn't take him long to un-tack Snowy and gently brush her down. Horses were always treated with respect, they were brave and loyal animals. As Lancelot was brushing Snowy, something nudged his back.

"I know, Hadrian, I'm not Arthur," Lancelot sighed, not even turning around to see what had nudged him. He knew Hadrian would be curious, it was only a matter of time before he would make his curiosity known. Prime Snowfall was actually Arthur's second horse, Hadrian was his first (and the origin of his name was quite obvious). A few weeks prior to their leaving the fort, Hadrian had injured his knee, so Arthur took Snowy instead.

Patting Snowy's back one last time, Lancelot turned to Hadrian looking over the wall between the stalls. "Both you and Arthur are hurt," he informed the horse, receiving a soft knicker in response, "He'll be all right, Hadrian." Lancelot stroked the bay's muzzle and bit his lip. Even the horses were concerned. He rested his forehead against Hadrian's face, repeating the phrase he had said so many times the day before, "He's hurt and it's my fault."

* * *

Very little had been said on their return journey, only a thing or two about the Woads. It was all just idle talk to pass the time, everyone knew what was on each other's minds. So when they reached the fort, a wave of relief passed over the knights.

Dagonet didn't bother putting the hood of his cloak up as it started to rain again when they reached the courtyard. Patting his horse on the neck, he dismounted and looked over at the others. The silence was awkward. "Put the horses up and then we'll see about Arthur," Dagonet said finally. Mumbles and nodding of heads were the reply. _It really shows how much Arthur is truly our leader,_ Dag thought.

Gawain and Galahad had gone to see Arthur, Bors was with Varona and Tristan had gone off on his own, as usual. That left Dag to find Lancelot. It was hard enough when a friend or brother is wounded in battle, they all knew that, but when it was the fault of one of their own, intentional or not, it could be devastating. Dagonet knew Lancelot, their villages had been close by before they left for Britain those years ago. He had never been as close to Lancelot as Arthur was, but they were friends, perhaps more so than the others. Lancelot needed someone he could trust, someone who would be there for him, he had found that in Arthur. It was obvious from when they first met the Roman. Dagonet sighed, that's what made this so hard.

After some time of searching in the rain, Dag found Lancelot on top of the wall, looking out over the land. It was a common place to go when troubled, most of them had been known to use the same view for various reasons. Silently, Dag sat down next to the younger knight, both of their legs dangling off the edge of the wall.

The only sound was that of the rain hitting the stone, until Dagonet spoke. "I thought you might be with Arthur," he started kindly, his blue eyes fixed on some point on the horizon.

"I don't want to hear it," Lancelot said sharply.

"Then maybe you must hear it," Dagonet replied.

Lancelot shook his head, "I already know what you're going to tell me Dagonet. It's not my fault, I couldn't have helped it, Arthur will be fine, I'm not to blame." He paused, his dark eyes now fixed on the man beside him, "Maybe he will be fine, but that doesn't change anything."

"It doesn't change anything because you won't let it," Dagonet sighed, "Lancelot, the Woads set that up, it was a trap, we all know that. Arthur knows it too."

"That's not the point!" Lancelot shouted, standing up, frustration evident in his voice. "It doesn't matter! I hurt him! I cut open his side with my own sword and you are trying to tell me that it's not my fault! It's all my fault!" Tears started to well up again in his eyes, Lancelot didn't care anymore, he didn't care that he would cry out of anger and grief in front of one of his fellow knights.

Dagonet slowly stood up as well, placing his hand on Lancelot's shoulder, who quickly pulled away from the friendly gesture, "You can't blame yourself, it will make it worse."

"It already is worse," Lancelot shot back, the tears dripping down his cheeks mixed with rainwater. "I hurt Arthur. Our leader...my best friend. Nothing you or anyone else can say will make it better. We're supposed to protect each other. And this is how I repay him? How the hell can it get worse than this!"

Lowering his eyes to the ground, Dagonet didn't watch Lancelot storm off. It was tearing him apart. It could be worse, it could be so much worse. Dagonet stood there in the rain for a long time.

* * *

Tears clouded Lancelot's vision, he didn't care where he was going, his feet were just taking him somewhere. He was angry, angry at everything, everyone. Why did Dagonet even try, what did he care? Arthur was wounded, they should be concerned about him, not Lancelot.

Brushing his wet curly hair out of his face, Lancelot suddenly found that he was standing outside of Arthur's door. He hadn't meant to come here, it was just where his feet took him, subconsciously. His hands shook as he reached for the door handle. Why was he going to see Arthur, the Roman probably hated him now that he had abandon him. Abandon him? No, Lancelot hadn't done that, the healer had told him not to come.

With his hand on the door handle, Lancelot closed his eyes. Why was he doing this, why was he beating himself over this. Maybe Dagonet was right. But then he wasn't, Dag had no idea what it felt like to do this to your best friend, even if it wasn't entirely his fault.

Slowly, Lancelot opened the door and stepped inside Arthur's room.


	5. Heart of a Legend

Ugh, sorry this took so long, school and such got the better of me for awhile. And another apology for the shortness of this chapter, but the ending...nothing could top that. I hate to say that the next chapter might be awhile since I haven't finished it yet, and like I mentioned before I like to stay a chapter up when I post so, well, stuff like this doesn't happen haha. Anyway, please read and review, I really do appreciate all of my faithful reviewers for bugging me to get this up, or else I never would have!

* * *

_denotes flashback/past or thoughts  
_denotes normal time

Chapter 5 – Heart of a Legend

_He shuddered in the still night air, the images still fresh in his mind. It was a cold night, as it often was, but that wasn't the reason that Lancelot was shaking. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he looked out across the field in the dark sitting atop the wall._

_There were footsteps coming closer. Lancelot didn't move, he didn't need to look and see who it was, he already knew. Resting his arms on his knees, he leaned his chin on them as Arthur sat down next to him._

_Neither of them said anything for a long time, no words needed to be exchanged. Slowly, Arthur reached over to place his arm comfortingly around Lancelot's shoulders. Lancelot hesitated at first, he thought Arthur would be unhappy with him, but now he found that he wasn't. Unfolding his legs and letting them dangle over the side of the wall, he leaned against the Roman, resting his head on his shoulder._

_Arthur finally broke the silence, "You don't have to suffer this on your own Lancelot, you could have gotten me."_

_There was pause. "A knight doesn't have nightmares, it's a sign of weakness," Lancelot said at last._

"_It's not something you can control."_

"_Why would you want a weak knight under your command, Arthur?"_

"_It's not a weakness, Lancelot," Arthur looked down at him, "Do you seriously think that I don't have them too?" He placed his cheek on the top of Lancelot's curly-haired head. "No, it's not a weakness. And you don't have to be alone, I'll be here. I want you to understand something Lancelot. You will always be my knight, no matter what happens. Always."_

* * *

Lancelot stood in Arthur's room, looking at the form on the bed under the blankets. He slowly moved over and sat down in the chair the healer must have left there. Arthur lay on his back, his right arm hanging slightly off the bed, his left across his chest. Just at the edge of the blankets, the bandage on his side was visible; clean and white. White, matching Arthur's pale skin. Sweat glistened on his face and neck.

Glancing to the table beside him, Lancelot saw that the healer had also left a basin of water, a rag and some clean bandages. He dipped the rag in the water and whipped the sweat off of Arthur's face. The wounded man stirred slightly, the water was cold as opposed to the fever that already burned in his veins. The storm had not been good to his weakened state.

The steady rain still beat on the stone buildings of the fort on Hadrian's Wall outside. It's soft, rhythmic sound providing a peaceful lull to those who were inside and warm, away from the elements. A fire crackled in the fireplace in Arthur's room, nearly drowning out the sound of the rain. But Arthur was cold; the icy wind from their swift return was still upon him. He suddenly shivered. Pain flared up from his side and leg. He bit his lip, trying not to cry out. A soft whimper escaped.

Where was Lancelot, he said he wouldn't leave. Lancelot could take away his pain just by the power of the love of friendship that they shared. Arthur needed his friend now more than anything, but was unaware that he sat next to him.

"Lancelot," he whispered barely louder than a breath.

"I'm here, Arthur," Lancelot took up his right hand, "I'm right here. I won't leave you again, I promise."

"Arthur," he whispered again after a moment, brushing back a stray lock of dark hair, "You didn't deserve this. If I could make this pain leave you, take your place, I would. It was my fault..." He trailed off, gently running his fingers through Arthur's dark hair.

"_I want you to understand something Lancelot. You will always be my knight, no matter what happens. Always."_ Always was a strong word. Lancelot remembered the night those years ago that Arthur had said that to him. It had been true, nothing had even threatened to separate them, there was no doubt.

Doubt, another strong word. In the heart of a warrior it could lead to fear and fear can be one of the most deadly emotions. All of them at some point have been afraid, but not so much as Lancelot was now.

He wanted Arthur to wake up and take him in his embrace; to tell him everything will be all right. He wanted the comfort that his friend had given him, the support, the understanding, the friendship. It didn't happen. Lancelot found that at the moment when he should have cried, he had no more tears left.


	6. Will of a Legend

All righty, well, my music theory class was cancelled today so I got quite a bit of writing done...in fact I finished it. Not this chapter, but the next one will be the last. Anyway, I decided to actually post one of the many songs that inspired me, it just sort of fit, especially for this chapter. I hope you enjoy it. Part of this chapter was also inspired by my wonderful Master, AthenaLeighJinn.

* * *

Chapter 6 – Will of a Legend

_Oh great God, be small enough to hear me now   
__There were times when I was crying from the dark of Daniel's den   
__And I had asked you once or twice if you would part the seas again   
__But tonight I do not need a fiery pillar in the sky   
__Just want to know you're goina hold me if I start to cry   
__Oh great God, be small enough to hear me now   
__- Be Small Enough_

* * *

The wind howled in the hallway outside Arthur's room. It had been raining for two days, never letting up. Day and night seemed just as dark outside as it did in the room only lit by a fire and a few candles.

Arthur was cold under the blankets of his bed. His face was wet, was it still raining? He could hear the rain outside, pounding down harder. Slowly he opened his eyes and the world came into focus. The fire still crackled in the fireplace in the corner.

It was sometime during the night, the clouds masked the stars in the view of the single window. In the chair next to the bed, Lancelot was asleep. Arthur smiled weakly; he had spent many nights in the same position. It felt strange to have their roles reversed.

There was a cup of water on the table. Arthur was thirsty, and hungry; he didn't remember the last time he had eaten. But then he could barely remember the past few days. Trying to blink the blurriness out of his sight, he slowly attempted to sit up. Immediate pain shot through his body like white fire. Biting his lip, Arthur reached towards the cup, his hand shaking.

Another hand reached out, guiding his. Arthur looked up and Lancelot smiled down at him. "And after all of those times that you said I should wake you when I wanted something," he teased slightly, helping Arthur lay back down more comfortably.

"You looked tired," Arthur replied, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

"It doesn't matter now. Don't drink too fast, if you start coughing and hurt yourself again, it's me that the healer yells at," Lancelot smirked slightly and pressed the cup to Arthur's lips. The water was cold, but it soothed his sore throat.

Arthur closed his eyes again and shivered. "How long has it been raining?" he asked softly.

"A few days," replied his friend tucking the blankets around him. There was a long, awkward pause. Lancelot reached forward and brushed a lock of dark hair out of Arthur's face, "Sleep, you need it."

Leaning back in his chair, Lancelot listened to the soft rhythmic sound of the man's breathing. He had not left Arthur's side since they returned to the fort. During the long silences, he had many chances to think and let his mind wander. Sometimes it hurt him as much as it helped, other times, when he thought of happier times...but then he would return to the present.

Arthur's hand twitched in his sleep, he whispered a silent prayer in Latin, the language that was still unfamiliar to Lancelot. It often seemed as though Lancelot was jealous of Arthur and his God. Perhaps he was. Perhaps because there were things that Arthur would bring before his God that he would not say to his best friend. Or was it because of this. Arthur had told Lancelot once that God was kind and loving, a creator, not a destroyer. Then why did this God allow his follower to suffer?

Lancelot looked up at the ceiling. "If You can hear me, God of Artorius...be with him," the young knight whispered, "If You are a loving God, heal him. If You are a creator, save him. He is your servant isn't he? That's what he told me, many times. He does not deserve to suffer like this...and if You are punishing him for befriending a pagan, then punish me instead, for I am at fault." Letting out a deep breath, Lancelot closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair. His burdened heart felt lighter.

* * *

Outside was quiet the day after the next, the rain had stopped. It was instead replaced by fragile white flakes of snow that had begun to gather on the ground and walls of the fort. The first snow of the season.

Lancelot awoke in his chair to silence. The bed was empty. Immediately, he panicked, his mind automatically racing to imagine the worst. But as he jumped up and turned for the door, it opened and in the doorway stood Arthur, supported by a wooden crutch. He smiled warmly, "It snowed last night."

"Arthur..you're..."

"Up?" The Roman's smile widened, "Dagonet made it in his spare time, which everyone has a lot of lately." He motioned to the wooden stick positioned under his arm to take the weight off his leg and lessen the strain on his side. "And the healer didn't yell too much," he smirked, "In fact he said that I can be getting up, for a little bit at a time now." Arthur turned from the door and limped a little into the hallway, "But what he doesn't know won't hurt either of us. Come on, Lancelot, come see the snow."

During the night the fort and the lands surrounding had been transformed from the muddy green that the rain had brought, to a pure white. It hadn't been a heavy snow, only enough to blanket the ground and change the beauty of the landscape they had grown so used to. Lancelot stepped out into the crisp air of the white kingdom, his brown eyes surveying.

In the courtyard, Galahad and Gawain were having a battle with Bors' children, all of them armed with snow. Arthur limped beside Lancelot, his red cloak keeping him warm. He smiled leaning on the y-shaped stick.

"It's as if the earth has been whipped clean," he said softly, his breath coming in clouds from the cold air, "It's pure again, no more death, no more battles...well, except that one."

"It's beautiful, that's what it is," Lancelot smiled.

Just then Galahad looked up, catching sight of the two standing there. His young eyes lit up in a joyful smile, "Arthur!"

Gawain's head snapped up, "Arthur! You've emerged from the depths of the dark hallway."

Arthur smiled widely, it still hurt to laugh but he told none of them. "It took a change in the weather apparently," he replied.

"It's a good thing too, I think Gawain was going to go insane if it rained one more day and we had nothing to do," Galahad threw a handful of snow at his friend.

Gawain returned the favour, "You already are."

"Hey!" Galahad laughed chasing him back across to the battle with the children.

Lancelot shook his head with amusement, "With the children, that's where they belong...Arthur? Are you all right?"

Arthur winced slightly, the cold was getting to him, "Just..sore."

"Come sit down then at least," Lancelot replied, a bit surprised when his captain didn't protest.

* * *

They watched Gawain and Galahad playing in the fresh snow with the children for a long time. Lancelot sat with his back to the stone building on the bench and Arthur leaned against him, neither were ashamed nor uncomfortable being close to each other, it felt safe.

"Are you cold?" Lancelot asked after a moment of silence.

"No, you make a very good heat source," said Arthur sleepily, his head resting back against Lancelot's shoulder.

The knight snorted, "If you weren't wounded, I'd hit you."

"What for," Arthur grinned, closing his eyes, "Love is a very warm feeling, especially when it comes from your best friend."

Lancelot's smile slowly faded. _A best friend who hurt you..._


	7. Love of a Legend

Hi one last time. Here it is, the final chapter and the epilogue too for good measure. Wow, this is my longest story I've ever finished and I really want to thank all my reviewers who really kept me going. But special thanks go out to Ivory Novelist, who is a fantastic author, and who was the one who got me to post this at Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this story, I had fun writing it. I've got another longish story in the works and hopefully I'll be able to post that sometime soon. Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 7 – Love of a Legend

_Hope fades unto the world of night   
__Through shadows falling out of memory and time   
__Don't say 'We have come now to the end'   
__White shores are calling   
__You and I will meet again   
__And you'll be here in my arms, just sleeping   
__- Into the West_

        Lancelot sat on top of the wall, the stars still hiding behind the dark looming clouds...like the ones in his heart. Arthur was healing well, he was getting around again. The knights were both relieved and happy to have their captain back again. Just that day, Lancelot and Arthur had gone for a short ride around the fort. Hadrian, the bay stallion, was also pleased to see his master again, as was Snowy. Lancelot smirked slightly at the thought, whoever said that horses don't have emotions like humans was wrong.   
        It had rained again, all the snow was washed away and the land returned to being more muddy than before. It was still beautiful, yes, but nothing like it had been only a few days previous. Lancelot sighed. The ache in his heart had returned as well. He had been there for Arthur when he needed it, but he didn't prevent it as he should have.   
        Lancelot, warrior of Sarmartia, knight of Arthur Castus. Was he worthy of such a title? Arthur had forgiven him, why couldn't Lancelot forgive himself.

        "Lancelot," Arthur's sudden voice behind him, made the knight jump. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."   
        "No, Arthur," Lancelot replied, looking up at him, "I'm sorry."   
        Slowly, wincing slightly, Arthur sat down beside him. "How long are you going to live with this in your heart?" he asked gently and Lancelot turned away. "I heard your prayer."   
        The knight's brown eyes returned to the face of Artorius, "What?"   
        "I heard your prayer," Arthur repeated. He smiled, "God answered it; He healed me, through you."   
        "I hurt you..." Lancelot whispered, looking down again.   
        "See it that way if you wish, Lancelot, but you never hurt my soul."   
        "Arthur..."   
        "Do you remember when I told you, you will always be my knight? I mean that, even now. But you have to forgive yourself," Arthur slowly put his arm around Lancelot's shoulders.   
        The knight's lower lip trembled. He felt like such a child, a knight shouldn't cry. But he couldn't help it, not now. Leaning into Arthur's uninjured side, Lancelot's body shook with a silent sob.   
        "I said that the snow whipped the earth clean, made it pure. That's you, Lancelot. You are what I hold onto."   
        As he spoke, the cloudy sky cast down the first few snowflakes of the night, dancing in the soft breeze. They caught in their hair and on their faces, mingling with Lancelot's tears.   
        After a moment, Lancelot pulled back and looked deep into Arthur's grey eyes. No words were said, none were needed. The ice of guilt that had pained his heart was melted away by Arthur's love and friendship.   
        From below, a single figure stood in the falling snow, watching them. Dagonet smiled and turned to walk back to his room. Now they could all get some well-needed rest.

_Finis_

* * *

Epilogue – Laughter of a Legend

        "And then I said," Bors motioned wildly, standing amongst the knights in the courtyard and nearly hitting Galahad next to him, "'Don't sell the goat!'" He immediately erupted into the loud, heart laugh that drowned out the rest.   
        Arthur stood among them, an amused grin on his face. It had been several weeks now, two more days until their next mission. He looked over at Lancelot who was playing dice with a few of the Roman sentries off duty. An evil spark caught in Arthur's eye, and a smirk briefly crossed his face. He turned to Dagonet beside him and spoke quietly to the large warrior who nodded in agreement.   
        A moment later, Arthur groaned and suddenly grabbed his side, his other hand on the nearby table supporting him as he doubled-over. Dagonet moved quickly to help.   
        "Lancelot!" he cried, silencing the noisy courtyard. All eyes turned in worry to Arthur. Lancelot leapt up, dashing over, followed by the rest of the knights.   
        "Arthur," the curly-haired knight said, taking Arthur's good arm.   
        Just as unexpected as before, Arthur launched forward, pushing Lancelot down on the ground with his shoulder and pinning him. "Got ya," he grinned triumphantly.   
        Lancelot glared up at him, but too pleased his friend was up to his old tricks to be too mad, "I'm going to kill you."   
        "Only if you can catch me," Arthur taunted, quickly releasing Lancelot, knowing better than to stay around after giving a challenge, and took off running.   
        "Gah!" Lancelot jumped up after him, laughing, "_When_ I catch you!"   
        And their laughter echoed throughout the fort and the fields beyond.


End file.
